


A Keeper's Woes.

by JustACapybara



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M, Gen, hopefully this is good!, i hope you enjoy!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 12:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustACapybara/pseuds/JustACapybara
Summary: A lonely Yordle stands on the rubbles of a once great city. A city she helped build, defended with tooth and nail, and in the end, all efforts went to waste.





	A Keeper's Woes.

A soft hum in the distance, filling the empty air with some life. Despite being clad in heavy armor from toe to neck, Poppy was light in her feet and swift. Not even the massive hammer resting on her shoulder could hope to weigh her down, after all, it wasn't the material world that affected her. No... it was what was under all that metal, stirring inside her.

The paved roads were covered in weeds and dandelions, their white seeds flying on the cold breeze of spring, the morning sun heating them up. The trees, once so beautifully treated by human hands, now grew as nature intended, twisting in unique ways and reaching for the stars in the hope of getting more of the sweet sunlight. And in front of her, through that ancient road, ruins. Large, abandoned, broken pieces of marble and petricite covered in moss. Small houses built in normal rock and wood falling apart just the same as the monumental temples and libraries.

The square, so beautiful, now laid to waste. Although, not exactly. Repurposed would be a better way to explain it. The fountain that laid in the middle, crowned by a beautiful statue of Steeland, one of the first Demacian Kings, now housed a bird's nest on its crown. The trees buzzed with the sound of bees, along with other critters. Even the bigger beasts, such as the mighty boar, seemed to live in relative peace.

It warmed the poor Keeper's heart to see such beauty in one place. Although, it also saddened her.

Walking over to one of the benches that seemed relatively well kept, she sat on top of it, a pile of grass serving as a cushion while she looked over the massive library, now nothing but pillars and marble falling over each other.

A soft sigh left her. Three hundred and eighty-seven years since the last few Demacians left the city in an exodus. The ever nearing Noxian invasion made cities like Valoris, simple centers of culture and art, less valuable than the bustling barracks of Demacia and other cities near the capital. How could they hope to live, after all, when all around them the mountains blocked any hope of feeding enough people through their own farmland? One by one the stores closed, homes were left and families disappeared into the night.

Noxians. They're... they're not bad. Not all of them. Just like not every Demacian is a good person. Some were born mages, after all. It wasn't their fault... or her fault? Maybe. She crossed her arms, leaning forward while staring at the ground.

The grey blocks lined with grass. The separation was so vivid. When was the last time someone stepped on these very stones she helped laid? Kids running around the fountain, tossing their silver into it and wishing for good grades, or a toy... she could still see the hint of rusted metals under the mud and leaves that littered the fountain.

A sigh.

It wasn't their fault, either. 

After all, how many Noxians had come here? Good friends and workers, loyal to the ones that had adopted them in? Not only them. Ionians... oh, their beautiful tunes in a haunting language of mystery. Who amongst men could deny the grace that they carried with every tap of their fingers and melody they sang? The Freljordian caravans that passed by, shield-brothers singing happily, emptying their purses and taverns alike while hunting for the fearsome crag-beasts, raptors and drakes?! Oh, she couldn't help but giggle. They were all good people. They... deserved better.

The giggling stopped.

She got up, walking towards the library, leaving the Hammer behind near the bench. Who in this world still knew of this city? It had been lost to the ages, now only known in scriptures of old and outdated maps. Maybe there were still books left? Something that would not crumble as she went to touch it.

The wind blew colder, as the sun lazily clambered through the sky. The sound of laughter was there. From... her own head, of course. She was going mad. She was mad. The idiotic Keeper couldn't hold a single front on her own, let alone discern what was real from mere memories. Her gloved hands ran through the dusty shelves, being careful not to disturb the webs that the insects had made. The few books that were left, she didn't even dare touch. She was too much trouble already. Disturbing the last few remnants of better days would be... agh, just, just horrible.

She leaned onto the table where many of her peers reunited to discuss their beliefs, their styles... so many interesting things! Things she could barely wrap her head around with, but they were patient with the poor Yordle. Their words were always simple, and they never talked over her, even as she ranted on and on about the silliest things. Bread. Who the hell cares about bread that much? Poppy huffed. If only they talked on, drowning her out and actually enjoying their time rather than trying to please her. She didn't deserve such good friends. Well, that was even clearer now, considering that the town was gone.

Leaving the table behind and picking a silent corner to curl up on, she got into fetal position, holding her legs tightly to her chest and resting her chin on top of her knees. It was a cool spot, with rubble working as a ceiling to cover her head from the early sun. A dark, perfect stop to sulk in.

Why did she fail so much? What caused her to be an utter failure in everything that she put her mind to? The only thing those brutish hands could do right was forging. She was a good blacksmith, at least. Papa was right. Maybe she should have stayed in the forge. But then Orlon wouldn't have his Keeper, would he?

... Orlon.

It always came back to Orlon, didn't it? The Shining Knight.The one who razed bandit camp after bandit camp, that crushed raiding parties like they were nothing... even when they first met. After running away from home. Leaving Blomgrun behind in the seek of adventure, almost starving, a simple teenager the size of a tot crawling through the woods... to meet Demacia.

His voice was clear in her head. Stern, but sweet. Tired. Confused, too, just as confused as she was seeing this earth-colored man the size of a house staring down at her. The dark skin glistening, his shaved head like a beacon in the sun. It was.. funny, it was. He was funny. They were funny, together. The way they didn't know what they were saying to one another. The pointing gestures. The screams, almost synchronized, as they finally noticed each other when Orlon was almost stepping on her.

Slowly, she started to understand him. They came to have dialogues. They mixed bandle city words with those of the early settlers, sprinkled shuriman and noxian in the middle and spoke in languages only they could understand. Who in their right mind could imagine that the large man with a Hammer the size of himself, able to crush fortresses with naught but a glance and inspire thousands of untrained men to fight to the bitter end and then go further, oh who could hope to imagine he would so gladly immerse himself in the worlds and stories of the little one?

"... and then the big bad Thora was slain by the great Heroic Hero!"

"Haha! And how did he do it, blue flame?"

"He... uh.. h..he..."

"... how about he used his lance and drove it through the big baddie, eh?"

"Yes! Yes, I like that! He grabbed his large lance and shoved it so deep inside the big bad evil boy that it went through him!"

"That it did, little one... that it did."

These days, she was an expert with weapons. But he taught her everything she knew, or at the very least, set her on that path. Her dexterity did not falter as she punctured chest and throat with a rapier, her swings were true as she cut down foe after foe with flamberge and bastard blade, even with a crossbow, her aim wasn't lacking! Although, she did prefer having a shield to throw at people. They were just more reliable, she found. So was her forehead, if all else failed.

And The Hammer... the Hammer. His Hammer, of course, now carried by her, but owned by a fabled Hero she could only hope to find one day. The day she received it, clear as the sky above her. 

Orlon laying on his bed, a grey stubble on his chin, as hundreds of knights stood in the corridor to his room and around the manor that would one day grow and become the Stronghold that housed the Lightshields. Of course, no one really remembered how that came to be. Millenia had passed since then, after all.

But she remembered.

Oh, his breathing was so weak and feeble. The stuffy room, and the sweet, sickly stench of death. The fact they were alone, the curtains closed, as everyone in Demacia held their breaths, waiting to hear of the fate of their first Hero. One of many, followed by many families. These days, Garen would be the biggest contender for a Hero like him... but even he could not compare to Orlon in his glory days.

And there he was. He was so warm to the touch. Her rough hands, marked with the scars of war and the forge, holding his, just as rugged. Two knights, one with a lifetime of experience... and a teenager with too much hope and too few brains. His words, so very kind. Rich brown eyes, a smile as bright as the light in his heart. He was so kind. He was so good.

"Blueberry." He squeezed out of his throat, his voice rough after decades of shouting in the front lines. "Come closer, will you. Closer." Every step she took felt... disrespectful, somehow. She wasn't there because of her own wishes. Poppy wouldn't dare disturb her personal hero in his last moments, but Orlon insisted, ordered that she was present, only her. And present she was, unable to hold back her tears, a rag on her hands to wipe away all the tears and snot from her ugly sobbing. Gods, she couldn't even cry right.

There was a little stool for her to get up on, perfect level for her to look down at Orlon. It felt weird... wrong, to be taller than him. But his low chuckles made her smile herself. He had such an aura around him. At the gates of Odecia, even as their shield walls were pierced, as the archers rained hell from above and as the rain threatened to drown the fallen, Orlon held strong, swinging his Hammer with the might of a thousand me. His voice, loud, booming, like an Angel ordering mere mortals... no, not ordering. Reassuring. He was not a commander, nor a general. He was a footsoldier, same as the men that died beside him. Kind words. "Brothers! Sisters! Resist! Though lances pierce our wood and steel clashes against our cloth, we will not cease! We will not be undone! Rage on! For Demacia! For your families! For a brighter tomorrow!"

They lost so much that battle... and yet, they resisted. And they lost much more in other places. They even lost battles, but even in retreat, he was gracious and kind. He had the strength of dragons, and in his shoulders, it wasn't uncommon to see him carrying two, even three men to safety! Clad in exotic armaments from distant lands, skulls of beasts she only came to meet hundreds of years later, in distant shores. His cape and scarf, torn a million times to make tourniquets on the fly, yet always so stylish! He was the walking, breathing image of the knights in her fables. He was perfect. And no man, woman or creature that ever walked this earth could hope to compare to him. Oh, Orlon...

"Little Flame. Little Flame!" He raised a weak hand towards her, caressing her cheek. Gods, it was like grinding sandpaper. Not that she minded, of course. This moment, she couldn't care less if she was boiling in a pit. As long as Orlon was there. Oh, how fragile and feeble he was... such a great man, brought down to this.

"Little Flame. Is your... mind, wandering off again? Are you afraid for me?"

"N-no, Sir."

"I know you are. Dear.. my star. You are too good of a person. Too good... hehe. You are awful at lying."

"...s-sorry sir." Tears started to flow again, as she buried her face on the rag. She was lying! Lying to him on his death bed! Gods, how could he even support her still? Obviously, she was a horrible, horrible creature.

"Do not be... little flame. I will ask of you a favor. Understood? A... favor. You may refuse."

"No!" Poppy's tone was that of desperation, as she grabbed his hand away from her cheek, holding it tightly with both of her hands. "I-I will not refuse you, Sir. Not now. Not before. Not ever. Please.. please tell me. I promise I'll have it done by tomorrow. I- y-you will be here to see it!"

He laughed. Such a sweet laugh... despite all the hatred she held against herself, there was no mistaking that for a burst of mocking laughter. He enjoyed having her around. It only made the fact he was withering hurt more, despite the light-hearted moment. How could he appreciate this dimwit? What did he see on her?

"I will sleep my last sleep today. And I will watch you from... from above. Ah, it's hard speaking, isn't it? Ah... little one. You will take my Hammer. You, and you... ack, ack! A-and only you, will carry it. You will one day meet.. a Hero, a Hero like me... and on that day, that Hero will accept the Hammer. They will have a good heart like you and me... ah... and they will guide and inspire people from all around the world as I did. They will be the greatest Hero man and yordlekind have ever witnessed! Hehe... I know you can do that. I know you will. I trust you, my dear little flame... I know you will meet that Hero." He smiled a smile that made her shiver. There was intent behind that smile. Maybe she was just overwhelmed. "You... you will no longer be a soldier. You are a guardian. Like.. agh! L-like the stories old. You love stories, don't you? A guardian.. but.. but so unique. That's not a name.. fit for you. How does Keeper sound? The Keeper of the Hammer... ah, you did step right out of a fairy tale, you did... yes you did..."

After another coughing fit, he managed to force himself to the side, just enough for Poppy to have a comfortable place to sit on. He spoke, softer now, as if trying to cling onto life just a little longer than he should. "Tell me... tell me of your home. One last time. Before I go." He closed his eyes, still smiling, the only sign he was alive being his breathing.

And Poppy did as she was told. She spoke of the vivid trees around Bandle, of her father, of how she imagined her mother to be. Of her friends, young Teemo, reckless Tristana, that weird boy with an even weirder hair! Of how her school was, and how they acted. She had a good time. She could only hope he had a good time, too.

It was by the time the sun was falling that she realized his chest moved no more, and after a quiet question with no answer, the newly decorated Keeper walked out into the plaza, where a hundred thousand curious eyes stared at this feeble looking blue thing that stepped out of the fortress, a red scarf wrapped around her neck, struggling to carry the enormous Hammer out and through the gates. The leader of Demacia at that time came to her, and Poppy needed no words. Two knowing glances were exchanged, and on that day, for all of Demacia to mourn, it was known through Runeterra that the great Orlon was no more.

How far she had come since then... and fallen, too. She saved a million lives, and took out a million more. Gods, she could only imagine the disappointment of Orlon. What good was she? Two thousand years. Two thousand years! And yet this dummy couldn't yet find the Hero. And of course, other horrible thoughts plagued her like rats in a kitchen. What if the Hero died, long ago? What if she had ignored the Hero? What if she gave the Hammer to the Hero, but then he died? After all, Poppy had handed the Hammer over hundreds of times, only for the wielder to get crushed, mauled... generally killed. It filled her with unease. It made her want to cry.

She was crying.

Of course she was. The sun was setting above her, and a curious salamander slithered away as Poppy beat herself over the bead with her fists, letting out an angry, frustrated growl. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stop crying! T-think of what the Hero would do if he saw you like this you... you!" Agh! How could anyone ever say that she was worth anything? She obviously wasn't worth the time of day, the steel that she used to make her armor! Gods, how could one Yordle be such a massive failure!?

Grabbing her scarf to wipe the tears away, being careful not to push dirt that gathered on her while she reminisced on her eyes, Poppy got up, leaving the Library with a bow of respect. She could only imagine the spirits of those that died and abandoned this place, scoffing at her, staring her down with disgust. The way her very presence soiled the ground.

Ah... she stared down at the Hammer, illuminated like a dream. The soft yellow light penetrating through the thick leaves, rays of sunshine hitting the steel and making it shine oh so brightly. The golden details sparkling, the rough leather that she had to replace a thousand times seemingly showed the scars of every battle, but still, it held up. The Hammer... The Hammer was a thing of beauty, it was. Nothing her, her father, or Ornn himself could make would ever compare to the pure unadulterated beauty of the Hammer.

If only there was a Hero holding it.

Poppy walked under the rays of sunshine, grabbing the Hammer and lifting it with ease, resting it on her shoulders before picking up her pace, walking towards the setting sun on the horizon. After all...

She had Heroes to find, and wars to win.

Wars that only a Hero should win.

Maybe she'd meet them there.


End file.
